


The Henderson County LGBT Youth Support Group (6-8 PM, every other Tuesday)

by traveller



Series: New York, Texas [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Gen, M/M, Near Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1807324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Steve accidentally starts Henderson County’s first and only LGBT youth support group (and it was Steve, it was all Steve) when the kid who came to fix their severely fucked up kitchen sink (also Steve) happened to open the kitchen door at exactly the same moment that Steve (of course it was Steve) had Bucky backed up against the fridge and his tongue in Bucky’s mouth. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Henderson County LGBT Youth Support Group (6-8 PM, every other Tuesday)

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on tumblr.](http://ceeturnalia.tumblr.com/post/83869311601)

Steve accidentally starts Henderson County’s first and only LGBT youth support group (and it was Steve, it was all Steve) when the kid who came to fix their severely fucked up kitchen sink (also Steve) happened to open the kitchen door at exactly the same moment that Steve (of course it was Steve) had Bucky backed up against the fridge and his tongue in Bucky’s mouth. 

The kid made an _eep_ noise, and Steve straightened up, wiped his mouth with his palm and smiled the smile that sold a thousand war bonds. “Sorry,” he said, clearly no such thing. “That was rude, we knew you’d be here at 9.” 

The kid swallowed what was clearly a second _eep_ , and cleared his throat noisily. He was still staring at Steve’s mouth. “S’all right,” he squeaked. “Nobody ever expects the plumber to be on time.” 

That was the point at which Bucky smiled with neither his teeth or his eyes, grabbed his hat off the hook by the door, and whistled for the dogs. What was next was either going to be gay panic or a 19 year old awkwardly trying to come on to Steve and neither of those were things he needed to witness. There was fence to mend. 

When he came back, three hours later, filthy and starving, the sink was still dripping into a feed bucket, and Steve and the kid were sitting at the kitchen table with cups of coffee. Bucky turned on his heel at the screen door and headed for the barn. Lunch could wait. There were stalls to clean. 

It wasn’t long before he heard the door bang, heard Steve’s strides over the gravel. He stopped and turned back to face him.

"Listen," Steve said, in the same way he used to say it when he’d started some idiotic thing that he needed Bucky to help finish. Sometimes having his memories back was bullshit. He couldn’t claim he didn’t know Steve had always, always been like this. 

"Listen," Steve said, "Cody’s got a boyfriend, and it’s serious, and they want to move in together, but the boyfriend, Jay, is a little more… obvious. So Cody’s worried his dad won’t buy a roommate story. Neither of their folks know, or at least neither of them have told their folks, and Cody’s worried his dad will disown him and cut him out of the family business." Steve points to the truck in the drive, red with gold letters on the door saying CONKLIN & SONS PLUMBING. 

Bucky breathed in and counted to twenty like Sam told him to do, and then added twenty more, also like Sam told him to do. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked after he’d reached ninety. 

"He just wanted somebody to talk to. He thought maybe we’d been through something similar." 

"Coming out wasn’t a thing back then," Bucky pointed out. "Or if it was, we sure never heard about it, because people like us don’t. I mean we wouldn’t have." He stopped. "You know what I mean." 

"I do. I guess I just don’t see any harm in giving some kids a safe place to talk and support each other." This smile was the one Steve used when he’d drank the last of the milk and put the empty bottle back in the fridge. 

"Wait, _kids_ ,” Bucky said. “ _Plural?_ ”

"Well, apparently there aren’t a lot of resources for queer youth in rural East Texas, Buck. We looked on my laptop." 

_Resources for queer youth,_ Bucky repeated under his breath, taking his hat off and wiping his brow with his sleeve. “I was promised quiet, Rogers. I was promised a quiet life and—” 

"Aw, Bucky," Steve said. "You shoulda known better when you asked me to come along." 

And that, Bucky supposed, was the end of that. 

The Henderson County LGBT Youth Support Group is publicly known as whatever excuse the kids can come up with to drop by the farm, any time between six and eight on every other Tuesday. Steve makes coffee, buys soda and chips, and leaves the back door open. Bucky, uncomfortably reminded of the group therapy that Sam had once (one time) (1) got him to go to, starts off by making sure he’s got something to do outside, or better yet, in town. As far away from the kitchen full of kids (the oldest is 22, the youngest is 14, and tells her mom that she’s going to Bible study) as he can get without seeming like a complete jerk. 

It doesn’t work, though. 

He comes back to the house a little early one evening, about four months in. It’s a humid July night, the sun’s still up, and he’s in the mood to lock the door and push Steve up against it. All the sun and fresh air, probably. There’s only one truck left in the yard, Cody’s, and he steps up onto the back porch just in time to hear Cody’s boyfriend Jay say, “Steve, why does your boyfriend hate us?” 

Bucky stops and eases off to one side, where he can see through the screen but not be seen himself. Jay is a skinny soft-voiced Chicano kid with bleached hair and a ring in his lip. He wears stretchy pants and too-tight shirts and a lot of bracelets. Cody’s shirts are also too tight, but for the same reason Steve’s usually are — he’s bulky and muscular, a sandy-haired white guy who tends toward cargo shorts and polos when he’s not in his coveralls for work. They’re both standing, elbow to elbow, leaning back on the counter by the fridge while Steve leans back by the sink. 

"He doesn’t hate you," Steve says, with a glance at the door. "Bucky is… well, for a start he doesn’t like crowds. And for him sometimes, yeah, ten people is a crowd. Sometimes two people is." 

Cody nods his head. “The war fucked him up, huh.” 

This time when Steve glances at the door his eyes linger, and Bucky knows he’s been made. He shakes his head; at what he’s not entirely sure. 

"It fucked him up good," Steve agrees, and there’s so much love and understanding in his voice that Bucky wants to put his fist through a wall. "And me too. Not in the same ways, but yeah. It’s hard to deal with people sometimes. It’s hard to deal with how much the world changes when you’re away. So sometimes he’s a little anti-social. It doesn’t mean he hates you guys. He just works through his stuff in a different way, and that’s okay." 

Bucky silently moves back off the porch; this time he makes sure he’s loud when he comes up across the boards. Both kids look up guiltily when they see him, but Steve just beams. 

He slings his left arm around Steve’s hips, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Hey guys," he says, his voice low and hoarse and he will swear it’s allergies if asked, because there’s only one person here who knows that isn’t possible. He offers them the best smile he can. "Sorry I missed the meeting."


End file.
